


Perchance to Dream

by Anjelica_Grey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Sexual Tension, not even sorry, shameless alibear fluff, talking in one's sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelica_Grey/pseuds/Anjelica_Grey
Summary: For thefluff prompt, “Shush, it's not morning yet.”Scene stands alone, but also fits well between Chapters18-19of “To Dream of Dragons.” :)





	Perchance to Dream

Alistair was having trouble falling asleep.

He couldn’t be sure, but he _suspected_ the source of his insomnia was the warm, pliant female curled against his side, her sweet face mere inches from his own. Maker’s breath, she was even lovelier than usual, silvered by moonlight. Her milky skin shone pale in slumber, the hint of color in her cheeks brought out by the remembered rosy hue of her petal-soft lips.

Her lips ...

The young Warden swallowed hard, forcing his wayward gaze up to the midnight sky and its cloak of starlight. _‘By the void, Alistair, pull yourself together,’_ he scolded. _‘Old Mother Hedwig would’ve boxed your ears for a month if she caught you behaving like such a lecher. I’ll admit it’s a challenge, having her ... ah, body pressed to your chest, but ...’_ His lecture trailed off when he reflexively glanced at the body in question, and found himself staring straight at the enticing expanse of flesh exposed by her loose neckline, drawing his focus steadily closer to shadowy temptation. Hastily, he tore his eyes away. _‘Right, then.’_ The Chant. He should recite the Chant; that would settle his mind—and if his time in the monastery proved anything, it would bore him into a coma as a bonus.

At that moment, he couldn’t have recalled a verse if his life depended on it. He pondered whether there’d ever been a Canticle of Cleavage among the Dissonant Verses. If not, the Maker had overlooked a thoroughly deserving subject.

A stray idea tickled the corner of his brain, and he leapt upon it like a starving beggar. Something about chests, but not—oh yes, the paintings from Raven’s magic light crystal. He still couldn’t quite fathom complete strangers from another world creating art about him. It was unsettling, but he had to admit it was also intriguing ... especially given that Raven had found the images appealing enough to ... buy them, or do whatever one did to put them in there.

Particularly when he considered the picture of him shirtless. He contemplated what she wanted it for. He had only the vaguest notion what a woman might feel—or _do_ —when viewing that sort of image, but it was ...

Not at all helpful, is what it was. Not. At. All. He shook his head, annoyed. “Get it together, man,” he grumbled, remembering too late to be still and silent.

“Hmm?” Raven’s voice was fuzzy-edged with sleep. Blast, he’d woken her.

Although, since she was already up, he might as well ask ... “Raven?”

“Hmm?” she said again.

“Why do you have a painting of me without a shirt? Is that ... is that something people do where you’re from?”

“I have pictures in my phone.”

Phone; that’s what she’d called the thing. “Yes, those. I ... wondered why you had them ...”

“I told you, Eee books are lighter. Easier to carry,” she mumbled, frowning.

His eyebrows knitted. He hadn’t a clue what an Eee was, but in his experience, books weren’t ‘light and easy to carry.’ And more importantly, what did that have to do with anything?

“So the paintings ... come in a book?” he hazarded.

“Ugh, I said I’d Eee mail them. Gimme a minute. Just got Mick Dees and I don’t wanna get grease in my key board.”

_‘What?’_ He struggled to make sense of her words. Maybe in her weariness, she’d used terms from her world and forgotten he didn’t understand them? But before he could inquire, her face screwed into an angry pout, or as close as possible with her eyes shut.

“You knock it off. ‘S too early in the mornin’ to pick on me—‘pretend game boyfriend’ blah blah blah. Jerk. You just don’t appreciate Alibear. If you played, you’d see. Ugh, brothers are lame.”

_‘Alibear?’_ he thought, and then, _‘... brothers?’_

And then he understood. She wasn’t awake.

Talking in one’s sleep wasn’t uncommon. But one recruit in Bournshire had carried on entire conversations, in a surprisingly normal tone. The lad had gotten into trouble more than once when instructors gave orders at bedtime, and he swore the next day that nobody told him.

Raven, it seemed, operated in the middle between babbling nonsense and near-lucid speech. She took part in the conversation, but her answers bore only a passing acquaintance with his questions. It was ... adorable, actually.

Alibear. It had a ring to it, he thought with a grin.

Gently, he stroked her arm with his free hand, pressing his cheek to her silken hair. “Shush, it's not morning yet,” he soothed. “You’re dreaming; that’s all. Go back to sleep, my dear. You’re safe. Everything is all right.”

Comforted, she nuzzled against his chest and settled back into peaceful slumber. He smiled down at her, his sweet, silly, delightful Raven.

His Raven. Against all logic and expectation, she really was his. As he was hers.

And with that miracle a reality, no matter what the future held, everything was all right indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> *happy sigh* :D


End file.
